Making A Difference

I always wonder if what I am doing makes a difference with someone. I talk with a lot of people, and work at being a problem solver, and, often, a mediator and decision maker.

My ears tend to focus on the negative reactions to our encounter, the anger, the frustration, the rage of the problem, their circumstances, maybe just life in general.

Yet, my spirit is drawn to listen with a deeper ear, listening for the connections we make, the compassion, the empathy, and the deep, heart to heart communication. My monkey brain, the continual analyzer and noise maker, tries to filter out this deeper conversation, this richer communication, and instead thrive on conflict and drama. Struggle and waging war with each other, and being loud and strident, those are the ideals of the monkey brain.

If I calm myself, and get in touch with my soul’s energies and voice, and go deeper into the experiences I am having with others, and with myself, then the real work, the real accomplishments are revealed. I become whole, and I am able to soar above the turmoil and conflict of the moment, and really see what is going on.

I hope that in much of our connections with each other, we want true understanding, true exchanges of information, viewpoints, emotions. In that work, something more than each of us is nourished, and that experience, that new wisdom and compassion and understanding begins to grow.

Last week, I had a good conversation with a young man striving to move ahead. The social and family obstacles he faces are enormous. His self esteem has been battered by the hurricanes that periodically sweep through his young life. Yet, from that conversation, he writes that he feels loved, he feels strong, and he believes in himself. He is ready to move ahead. He says I had a lot to do with how he now feels about himself.

Another young man tells me he is a failure, inept at whatever he sets out to do. Yet when I tell him he’s a good writer, an amazing artist, and, deep inside, a beautiful and loving man, he tears up. His eyes tell me he is really listening to me, in that deep, soul nourishing way that we all seem not to do very much. Our souls connect, and we both could feel that. When another person affirms my message, he nods in understanding. He left our encounter shoulders back, head held high, and the start of a smile spreading across his face.

I don’t know how my vineyard is growing. I sometimes till the soil, and plant a few new seedlings, or prune back a vine here and there. Sometimes I fertilize and water, but it’s pretty hit and miss. At least, my monkey mind analyzes it that way. Yet, the vines leaf out in the springtime, flowers do bloom, and the fruit on the vine often turns into sweetness in the sunshine of unconditional love.

I keep reminding myself that all things are possible, and I will never know all the fruits of my labors in the vineyard of life.

-Neal Lemery 11/13/2011

Change Comes From Within

What is needed to change? To change the world, and, perhaps more fundamentally, change myself?

I am a practitioner of conflict resolution. I arbitrate, adjudicate, mediate, nourish, mentor, and heal. Yet, how can I do this work better, more effectively?

This past week, I attended the Oregon Mediation Association conference. We examined courageous questions and our own abilities and needs to find peace in ourselves, so that we could foster peace in others. I was led to challenge myself, my beliefs, my “state of mind”, and the true nature of my work with others in conflict.

“With mindful awareness, the flow of energy and information that is our mind enters our conscious attention, and we can both appreciate its contents and also come to regulate its flow in a new way.”
--Daniel Siegel

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”
--Victor Frankl

If you want to change the system you are part of, all you have to do is change you.

I sometimes create my own demise.

Choosing what we do takes us out of our victim role.

“If you don’t know what you don’t know, how to you know what you want?”
-- Steve Jobs

If you don’t know what something will be in the future, how do you now know you don’t want it or don’t need it. So, build it, make it, and then it will be useful.

If I want to change the result, I really need to dig deep inside of me and examine my belief system.

My belief system triggers

my thoughts, which triggers

my emotions, which then triggers

my actions.

Real, fundamental change requires that I examine and change my belief system.

In all of this, I am in charge. Oh, I respond to my learned belief and behavioral systems, from childhood on up to today. But, I do get to decide how I believe, how I think, what emotions I am going to experience, and, ultimately, my actions. This isn’t easy work, but it is work I am capable of doing and work I can accomplish. I have to decide, fundamentally, if I want to do this work. But, I am in charge.

And, if I change myself, then I also change my environment, and thus I change my surroundings, the people I interact with.

If I come into my work filled with peace, I will have a different impact on others than if I come into my work filled with anxiety, or hatred, or other conflict-enhancing energy. Who I am, deep inside, has a direct and immediate impact on others, and on our relationships.

If change is needed, let it begin with me.

Neal Lemery, 11/6/2011

On The Edge

The slow hint of the new dawn competes with the setting harvest moon
fog light softens the edge of earth and sky--
I walk the middle place, not in either place,
only my steady breath a blessing
between the layers, between the night and the new day
the enigma
vaguely familiar.

--Neal Lemery 10/16/11

The Old Tree

As the tree grew, the new leaves in spring brought us hope. Its leafy branches in summer brought us its cool shade, a place to talk in the heat of the afternoon, as we sipped ice tea and lazed in the hot days. In the fall, its colorful leaves reminded us of the cycle of life and brought more beauty to our lives. When winter came, the bare limbs provided rough bark support for the flakes of sparkling snow on crisp days.

Over the years, the tree grew big and strong, and we took its presence in the yard for granted. Kids played noisily under its branches, and brought their friends. All too soon, they grew up and moved away. As the years passed, they’d come back, spouses and kids in tow, and children’s laughter was again heard under its spreading limbs.

As with us all, the tree grew old, losing a bit of its strength. One bitter day, a big storm cracked its trunk clear to the ground, and it was time to cut it down. Suddenly, that space in the yard no longer was filled with summer shade, or the maze of limbs sprinkled with the spring green of new leaves, or the orange and red fire of autumn.

Its thick trunk and fat limbs soon turned into a big pile of firewood, that warmed me as I split and stacked the seasoned hard wood. We were warmed again as the stove crackled and popped, during the depths of many a winter gale and early mornings, when my breath would turn white as I stood near the snowy flat top of the stump, my eye still seeing its tall, proud form.

I sat by the stump of the old tree one spring day, a new sapling in my hand, ready to plant. We needed a new tree there, in that corner of the yard, for the summer shade, and the colorful leaves in the fall, a place where kids could play and laugh. The yard seemed empty without a tree, in all its growing, in its presence in our lives.

Like many things in life, we didn’t really see the tree until it was gone, its silent place in our lives now missed, like the sound of children’s laughter after they’re grown.

I noticed the rings in the wood of the old tree stump. In counting the rings, I could tell its age, and remembered the events of our lives. And, in the counting, I saw that the big growth in the tree was in the spring and summer, when sun and warmth and water were plentiful. The thin, hard wood of the tree, its real strength, had come in the seeming deadness of the winter, when the storms and snows and freezing nights raged, when all seemed silent and lost.

As with new saplings and old wood, strength comes both in the flexibility of new growth, and the storm tested wood added in the height of a dark, cold winter.

8/29/2011

Blind

Words of old ideas,
building walls, defending against
introspection, self imposed fear
poisoning fertile ground.

Fear raised as a shield against the unknown
thinking it’s “there”, but it’s really
“here”
in all its glory, its promise
of a new beginning, new
wisdom.

Old ideas
being left behind--
others moving into the sunshine
of the new day.

Neal Lemery, 7/29/2011

Restringing

I’ve been in kind of a funk lately about my guitar playing. Things haven’t sounded just right, and, lately, one of my guitars has sounded downright awful. And, I’ve been struggling with playing some familiar chords and making songs sound decent. My teacher has been patient with me, pushing me forward, pointing out how I’ve progressed. Still, I felt I’d reached a plateau and I wasn’t going anywhere.

Guitar strings wear out and, as I live in a rain forest along the ocean, the metal gets corroded. Sure, I replace my strings once in a while. And, I use the fancy strings, with the special polymer coating, which makes them last longer and they don’t corrode as quickly in the damp salt air.

Guitar camp is only a week away, and my order for new strings came in the mail the other day. I’ve been planning to restring my guitars in order to get ready for seven days of playing frenzy. I should be on cloud nine, thinking about soon spending a week in music heaven. Still, I wasn’t in the mood -- my bad playing and the one guitar just sounding awful left me uninspired, and a little depressed about it all.

But, this afternoon, I decided it was time, and I geared up to restring one guitar. I took all my string changing tools and the boxes of new strings out on the deck. I thought I’d take advantage of a warm summer evening and all the flowers blooming on a day when the weather had apparently decided it was finally summer. The guitar had been sounding all right, but with the new, fresh strings, the change was amazing. Crisp, clear chords, and the “bad chords” I’d been struggling with now were easy and sounded good, the way I knew I could play them.

I was on a roll, and soon, the second guitar was getting its new strings. I’d even brought out the special guitar wood oil and a soft rag, and was cleaning up the fretboard and the saddle (the place in the middle of the guitar where the strings are connected, next to the sound hole). A bit of spring cleaning, I guess, and the rag was getting pretty gunky with about six months of dust and oil from my fingers and hands. No wonder the tone of my playing was off, with all that rust and grime.

The old strings were stiff in my hands, and I could see they’d gotten old and rusty from just living in the rain forest and putting up with the wettest spring we’ve had in living memory. Like everything else around here, the guitars needed some spring cleaning and a fresh new attitude.

I tuned up the strings and voila, a new guitar! It sounded crisp and sharp, and now I had two guitars that sounded decent. Playing the guitar was fun again, and I rolled through about a half dozen songs, playing up to speed.



I could see my neighbor working with his new mule. The farrier showed up, and soon, the new mule was getting some new shoes. Another neighbor was out with her dog, teaching the growing puppy a few lessons, her voice filled with encouragement. A little more restringing going on around the neighborhood.

It was a day for that, I guess. I’d finished up my work at the office and the usual hectic pace had slowed to a crawl. My co-worker suggested I take advantage of the onset of summer sunshine and leave work early. To her and my surprise, I did, stashing my work ethic in the file cabinet. In short order, I found myself taking a long walk on the beach, and having a long, leisurely lunch with myself at a great little restaurant, with fabulous, never ending coffee. I found time to work on an upcoming photography show, going through all my photos on my computer, and honoring my creative muse. When was the last time I’d done that?

Having treated myself with good things and a long walk in the sunshine on the beach, I had come home renewed. I was on a roll, and indulged myself with a nap. This taking care of the basics in life was getting to be fun.

I guess it was a day for restringing. Time to clear away the rusted junk and bring on the bright, shiny new tools to live life to the fullest. And, the mule is pretty happy, too. He’s racing around his pasture, kicking up his heels, happy with his new shoes.

Each One

Wedding guests and bride and groom---
each of us, our own thoughts, our own history
as joy and commitment is celebrated,
each of us invested, each of us moved
by the vows, the celebration,
families and friends growing in love.

Plants in the garden, each in its own place
changing this place, adding beauty,
adding purpose, growing a sense of place.

Each string on the guitar, its own voice,
its own vibration, its own depth,
its own potential, allowed to breathe.

Each bird song in the morning mist,
each voice adding to the whole,
each doing its part to make the day
complete.

Each is important
Each in its own way, its own voice, its own place
as part of the greater whole.

Neal Lemery, July 2011